


happy birthday, tucker

by notharry



Category: South Park
Genre: Drinking, Kissing, M/M, Parties, mentions of sex but no actual smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-05-27 22:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15034460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notharry/pseuds/notharry
Summary: A shitty house party isn’t how Craig expected to celebrate his seventeenth birthday.





	happy birthday, tucker

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [what's your story?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573292) by [notharry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notharry/pseuds/notharry). 



> okay so if you've read my other crenny fic "what's your story?" you might recognise some of the lines from it. fun fact, I started writing this as a oneshot and then the other fic was inspired by this. but you don't have to have read the other one to understand this one bc it's just crenny bein gay at a party

A shitty house party isn’t how Craig expected to celebrate his seventeenth birthday. He’d sort of been clinging to the idea that all of his birthdays would be spent exactly the same way his previous one was: curled up under a comforter with Tweek, eating cake and watching movies and pondering over tiny, insignificant details of life. It had been sort of perfect. 

****

However that plan, like most things, came crashing down. Now it is nothing but a distant memory for him to ponder over on lonely days. 

****

So, that leaves Craig with nothing to do on his birthday besides mope around, pick at food and play video games. That’s a plan he’s happy with. 

****

“Dude, it’s your  _ birthday _ ,” Clyde says, aghast. “You can’t stay in your room alone.”

****

“Can,” he replies evenly.

****

“It’s your last birthday as a child.” Fingers prod annoyingly at Craig’s arm. “You have to celebrate it!”

****

Clyde says some more shit about saying goodbye to his childhood, and what better way to do that than a  _ party,  _ and how amazing it would be to look back on his seventeenth birthday and remember having the night of his life. Craig decides not to mention that Clyde’s is only going because he caught the tail end of some gossip that Bebe Stevens  _ might  _ be coming. His attempted adventure at getting into her pants has been a long, painful journey since she went from an  _ A _ cup to a  _ D _ when they were all thirteen.

****

“Being alone all the time can’t be good for you,” Token had agreed.

****

Honestly, Craig can’t think of any less enthralling than spending a Friday night trapped in somebody else’s house whilst music slices through his skull. Especially not if it’s filled with the assholes from school. Drama from the halls only increases in volume when alcohol is thrown into the mix, and Craig hates the frantic shouts trying to outdo the thudding bass. He hates everything about parties, really. But maybe -  _ maybe _ \-  Token and Clyde are sort of right. Maybe he needs to escape his room before the empty space sends him spiralling into madness.

****

Eventually, Craig had grudgingly agreed to tag along.

****

Only a few people are aware it’s his birthday. That suits him just fine. Much like he hates every other aspect of his peer group, Craig hates the way they all fuss, the way they insist of tunelessly bellowing  _ Happy Birthday  _ every time he comes into view (and if there’s something he will happily avoid until death, it’s being made the centre of attention). Clyde had promised it will be specifically not-a-birthday party. Just a regular party, where he can blend into the shadows like always, where nobody knows that he turns seventeen today.

****

Well, he thought so, anyway. 

****

“Happy birthday,” a voice whispers, hot, alcohol-laced breath sliding over Craig’s ear. It’s uncomfortable. He’s never liked people whispering to him, especially not when it requires getting this close. However the presence isn’t unfamiliar; Kenny McCormick is a constant feature in his Physics class, sidling up next to Craig to ask for answers, and voice is always brimming with inexplicable mischief. It’s not difficult to imagine the twinkle in his eyes right now.

****

Kenny isn’t short, but still shorter than Craig. To whisper in his ear, he has to push up onto his tiptoes, consequently throwing an arm around Craig’s shoulders to steady himself. All this sudden contact is making him uneasy. Kenny could easily drag him to the floor right now in front of everybody as some twisted birthday surprise. Maybe he’s being paranoid, but knowing Kenny McCormick’s unfortunate habit of surprising him, that’s not out of the question. 

****

“Feel any different?” Kenny adds. His words are sort of strange, jaggedly thrown together. It’s not often he gets drunk to the point of slurring. 

****

“Nope.”

****

“I didn’t either. Seventeen … sort of a midpoint, you know?”

****

_ No, _ he thinks. Kenny usually comes out with some stupid shit, but it makes sense most times.

****

“Sixteen and eighteen are the exciting ones.” Kenny finally lets his arm drop from around Craig’s shoulders, dipping down to his original height. It’s not as short as he used to be. In the past few years, he’s grown upwards. It seems to have stretched him out. There’s barely any muscle mass behind his height. Not like there is to Stan or Clyde. He’s lanky, much like Craig himself. “Seventeen is just a shitty excuse for a birthday.”

****

“How did you know?” he replies, annoyed.

****

“Know what?” 

****

Usually he’s quite good with drinking, which Craig assumes is a result of years of learning his limits. Even when he was barely twelve, he was always one of the kids who would be drinking beer or whatever he could get his hands on.

****

“That it’s my birthday.”

****

Kenny shrugs one of his shoulders and gulps at his drink. When he finishes, he wipes his mouth his sleeve and says, “I remembered.”

****

“You remembered.”

****

“Yeah,” Kenny agrees, as if that’s enough. Luckily, Kenny elaborates before he is required to say anything else, which suits him. Chatting isn’t his preferred pastime. “From school. I came to one of your parties. Guess I just never forgot.”

****

Conversations with Kenny are always jumbled in among a crowd, Kenny chattering with Token and Jimmy whilst Craig sits beside them. Sometimes Craig will throw an interesting remark into the mix, but more often than not he just listens. The last time they were alone together was years ago. 

****

“I’ll get you a drink,” Kenny offers.

****

“No.”

****

“Why not? You look tense.”

****

“I don’t want to be here.”

****

“What?” Kenny asks, fake-gasping. “Not even on your -”

****

“Shut up,” he interjects. “I don’t want people knowing.”

****

The blonde rolls his eyes, clearly repressing the urge to add a snarky comment. Maybe he’s too drunk to think of one. He just nods and says, “Alright then.”

****

They just stand at the sidelines for a while, the silence wavering between comfortable and awkward. Even though quiet is how Craig prefers to spend his time, quiet whilst in the company of Kenny is strange. It’s concerning, even. Back in elementary school, Kenny never really said much unless he was asked a question, and even then Craig could never understand what he said. Only Stan and Kyle seemed to have that particular talent. 

****

But as he’s gotten older, Kenny is difficult to shut up.

****

Then, just as the silence has reached  _ very _ awkward, Kenny says, “How are things with Tweek?”

****

The words don’t sink in for a while. By the time Craig has registered the question, Kenny has turned his head sideways to face Craig’s gaze head on. His eyes are blue, not grey-ish or icy, but just deep. The same pleasant colour of the sky when it’s summer.

****

The words hit a nerve. The feeling is kind of faded, as if he’s remembering a distant time away instead of only a few months previously. There had been a wave of borderline unbearable emotions which had first surfaced when he realised that him and Tweek were over, finished, done,  _ gone … _

****

“Same as they have been for months,” Craig replies, keeping his voice low and steady. “Finished.”

****

Kenny huffs out a sigh.

****

“What?”

****

“It’s just a  _ waste _ , you know?” Kenny says. 

****

Craig laughs, not at all genuine. Yes, it was a waste. He wasted the majority of his life being judged for pining after some spaz, having caustic insults thrown at him, to get to sixteen and for Tweek to claim that it just  _ wasn’t working. _ Now Craig’s label of “spaz-fucker” probably won’t ever stop clinging to him, not until he manages to escape this fucking place where everybody knows everybody and no secret will ever remain a secret.

****

“You could say that,” he replies eventually.

****

The crease deepens between his eyebrows as he stares at the side profile of Kenny McCormick. He remembers Kenny’s face always being half-obscured by that orange parka he wore religiously all throughout elementary school, but even when he outgrew it, Craig never bothered to look at him up close. There was never really a need to, was there? The only person he was interested in at all was Tweek. Kenny was just another moronic kid, his only sticking title being  _ the boy who brought in some of his brother’s porno magazines _ . Craig remembers looking at the shirtless woman on the page and feeling sort of ill afterwards.

****

But now he’s looking. Quite a lot. The dim light of the room makes it almost impossible to see much, but Craig makes out a faint scar on the side of his lip, white against pink. There’s another small scar running through his eyebrow; Craig follows it up to his forehead, where a blonde fringe cuts off his view. 

****

“I always thought you would get married,” Kenny says absent-mindedly, as if his words aren’t putting strain on an already tentative subject. “You and Tweek.” Craig grits his teeth. “The wedding would have been fucking awesome.”

****

“Yeah.”

****

If Kenny notices his sudden interest in his face, nothing is said on the matter. Craig rakes his eyes over Kenny McCormick’s face, trying not to blatantly scrutinise. It’s strange how quickly Craig had skipped his eyes over Kenny in Physics, never bothering to look any deeper than necessary. He should have noticed that light splattering of freckles across the bridge of Kenny’s nose. He should have seen that Kenny’s cheekbones are strangely defined, and there’s a noticeable dip painting a shadow up his face, like one of those artsy makeup models.

****

There’s something cold on his cheek. Craig jumps away before realising it’s only Kenny’s finger, tracing a line down the side of his face, onto his jaw. He prepares his stiff “what the fuck are you doing?” but Kenny beats him to talking.

****

“What are you thinking about?” he asks quietly, barely heard over the roar of the party around them. His finger is still drawing meaningless patterns and leaving shivers in its wake. “You went all quiet.”

****

“I’m always quiet,” Craig replies. 

****

_ You just don’t shut the fuck up _ , his brain adds. When Kenny splutters with laughter, Craig realises his thoughts hadn’t been so private after all, and he had instead said that last part out loud.

****

Jesus. He’s barely had anything to drink. What’s happening?

****

“See? It’s a shame you don’t talk much.” Kenny finally takes his finger away, dimples still being pushed into his cheeks by that smile. “You’re funny.”

****

As Kenny’s smile widens, Craig’s frown deepens.

****

“So. What do you want for your …” Kenny leans up and whispers, as if he holds some huge secret, “ _ birthday? _ ”

****

He tries not to shudder. “Nothing.”

****

“Doubt that.” The blonde drinks again, his lips still too close to Craig’s ear. He’s so close that Craig hears the drink slosh and the soft  _ gulp _ when he swallows.

****

Slowly, as slowly as he can, he turns his head to face Kenny. They must look ridiculous, gazing into each other’s eyes in a manner which is far too romantic for a fucking house party. Kenny’s hair is messy, sticking up in all manner of directions, presumably ruffled from all the dancing.

****

This sudden and unexpected infatuation with Kenny’s face is disconcerting. He’s not used to taking interest in people other than Tweek. Even after they broke up, Craig was still pining after him. It reminds him of that story that Kyle told him, about how some dog waited for his dead owner to get back on the train every day for years, until the dog eventually died as well. It wasn’t a paticuarly heartwrenching story - it definitely hadn’t warranted tears - but somehow it struck a strange chord within him. He would be the dog, and Tweek would be the owner. Here he is, waiting for somebody who is never going to come back.

****

“You look ridiculous,” Craig tells him, yet his voice is flooded with affection. Too much to be aimed at Kenny. He clears his throat and adds, in a much more suitable, “Your hair is all messy.”

****

A lazy hum is the only reply Kenny graces him with.

****

“What are you drinking?” Craig asks, looking into Kenny’s cup curiously.

****

Another hum, this one thankfully followed by a, “Not really sure. Try it. I’ve not spiked it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

****

“No. You’re just drunk.”

****

“Maybe so.” He laughs again. It’s a nice sound. And it’s annoying how much Craig seems to like it. “You know what would be more fun?” Kenny is once again whispering in his ear. Craig hates the feeling of hot air tickling his ear, but he can’t contain the shiver which follows the feeling of Kenny’s mouth so insanely close to his earlobe. “If you got drunk too.”

****

“I don’t want a hangover.”

****

“Jesus, Tucker,” Kenny says, rolling his eyes again. “Live in the moment.”

****

And he doesn’t quite have the energy to refuse when Kenny pushes the rest of his drink (whatever it is) to Craig’s lips.

****

…………

****

Several drinks later, Craig is feeling fuzzy. Blurry. He knows that if he tries to stand up suddenly, it probably won’t end well, and he’ll end up toppling back onto the couch. That would be immeasurably embarrassing. Despite some shit being thrown around about him at school, he’s always managed to maintain a reputation for being … put together.  _ Stiff  _ and  _ aloof _ are words which Clyde has used before.

****

He tries to think about what his friends said would happen when the time comes to leave, and who their designated driver is, but he can’t quite remember. In fact he can’t even remember who came with them. Clyde’s here, that’s for sure. He’s been vaguely aware of Clyde’s whereabouts for most of the night, but now his friend could be absolutely anywhere, most likely on his mission to woo Bebe.

****

It’s not like he’s avidly searching for any of his companions, however. Most of his attention has been focused on the newfound crooked quality of Kenny’s two front teeth, which have a very slight gap between them, so small that it would go unnoticed without intent staring. It fits him, as well as imperfect teeth can fit anybody.

****

“When you’re thinking, you always make a face,” Kenny tells him whilst he knocks back another drink, and Craig watches him, mildly concerned ( _ surely _ it’s difficult to drink that much and still remain standing), whilst not really processing the words at all. He hears them. Loud and clear. It’s difficult not to, especially when Kenny is still so close. But there’s not one part of him which registers the actual meaning of these words. They slip through his ears, straight past the part of his brain which processes words and shit.

****

So Kenny nudges him. Hard enough to startle him, gentle enough to be affectionate.

****

“What?”

****

Whatever he said is repeated, this time louder. 

****

“Oh. Right.” Is that meant to be a compliment? Or an insult? “It’s not intentional.”

****

“It’s not a bad thing,” Kenny retorts.

****

“So it was a compliment,” Craig says. 

****

Kenny grins and runs a hand through his hair. A shiver runs through Craig at the sight of long fingers smoothing through, tangling in stray locks. “You could say that, I guess.”

****

Craig miserably stares at the dregs of his fourth drink. “What even is this?”

****

“It’s not going to taste any better if you know what it is.”

****

“I  _ know _ that.” Words seem to be thick and difficult. A witty comment tries to stir, but his tongue isn’t working along with the rest of his body. Not like it should. All he comes out with, “It’s gross.”

****

“Mhm. It is.” A hand comes out and snatches Craig’s near-empty cup from him, looking into the bottom. When Kenny sees that he’s in need of a refill, he raises his eyebrows mischievously.

****

“No,” Craig replies, sensing the impending question of “ _ another drink?” _

****

“No?”

****

“No. I can’t. I’ve had -”

****

“You’ve barely had anything,” Kenny interrupts carelessly, tugging Craig’s hoodie string in a wordless invitation for him to follow and get more drinks. When Craig makes no move to get up from the couch, the hand on his hoodie string drops, instead joining onto his own hand. 

****

Then, they are holding hands. Fingers intertwined and everything. He is aware of his palm being slick with sweat, and Craig tries to pull away, to no avail. Kenny grips tightly, closing any gap between their palms.

****

Hand holding has never been his thing. He's never understood why it's so fabulous to wrap glue fingers around somebody else, and he can't for the life of him figure out why it's reacted to in such a way. It's not cute. It's unnecessary. Just a stupid excuse to touch in public. 

****

Maybe he's alright with that, though. He stares at their hands for a second, tanned skin on paler, wondering why he and Tweek never did this. It’s an undeniably nice feeling, being joined to somebody else. 

****

And the fact that this hand belongs to  _ Kenny …  _ well. He can’t figure out whether that makes it better or worse.

****

“Drinks are in the kitchen. Come on, Tucker.”

****

Like a lost child, he lets himself be maneuvered through the crowd. Some people - mainly the ones who have had the privilege of remaining sober -  shoot their joined hands strange glances. Most are wasted beyond comprehension.

****

The kitchen seems overly bright. He squints under the harsh glow and accidentally catches his reflection in the mirror. The boy that stares back at him looks tired and unkempt, just about as put together as he feels right now.

****

The warmth covering his hand disappears. Kenny bustles around somewhere to his left, acting as if this is his own kitchen, pouring drinks into cups and holding it out to Craig. He takes it reluctantly, craving the feeling of not having to feel, however also possessing the knowledge that tomorrow he will be plagued with a horrible hangover. It nags at him with every sip he takes.

****

“So, Tucker, what’s your plan?” Kenny asks. He has pulled himself up onto the kitchen counter, legs swinging, head lolling against the cabinets. It exposes a lot of neck. Craig feels his eyes cling to the skin there, before they finally clamber back up to Kenny’s face, who is staring at him, amused.

****

“My plan for what?”

****

“You know what I mean.” Kenny looks at him for a long time, sighing dramatically when Craig doesn’t react to his words. He doesn’t know what he means. Not in the slightest. “Jesus, dude.  _ Getting Tweek back _ .”

****

Oh. Right.

****

Even though the words leave him shocked and pale, Craig manages to keep his voice even. “I’m not.”

****

Couldn’t Kenny have at least asked him that when he was  _ sober? _ Now he is drunk and wobbling on his own two feet, there’s no way a sensible reply will ever manage to make it from his mouth.

****

“Not what?”

****

“Getting him back.”

****

Kenny stares at him incredulously, until he finally says, “No.”

****

“No  _ what _ ?” Craig replies. “I don’t want him back.” 

****

And Craig’s always been under the impression that he was good at lying. But here is Kenny, broadcasting his spectacular ability to shatter any coherent thoughts remaining. All he needs to do is arch his eyebrows. Then Craig, despite having three or four inches on Kenny, feels suddenly small and vulnerable under his look of amusement. Or doubt. Or whatever that is on his face.

****

“You’re kidding me.” It’s not even a question. “Of course you want him back.”

****

The alcohol should act as a numbing agent. Usually, all his negative emotions get bundled away until he’s barely even functioning. But he’s not quite drunk enough for that.

****

That faded feeling is slowly becoming less like a memory, stinging like a fresh wound. Kenny is digging his fingers in this wound, clearly desperate to make it bleed.

****

“He’s gone,” Craig reminds Kenny, a repeat of what he has told himself countless times. “For good.”

****

If Kenny is about to add something totally insightful (which is an unlikely possibility), he doesn’t get the chance. Craig speaks over him. It takes him by surprise. His eyebrows raise even further, vanishing underneath his fringe. 

****

“He broke up with  _ me _ , McCormick.”

****

“So it’s your duty to go  _ after him _ ,” Kenny replies, mocking Craig’s tone, unfazed by the coldness. God. He’s so fucking infuriating. “You know? Like in the movies.”

****

“Yeah, well.” Craig looks away from Kenny, finally. The staring grows uncomfortable when Kenny looks at him like that, mischief and glee glowing in his eyes. “We aren’t in a movie.”

****

He chuckles and drinks. Craig tries not to watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

****

“So, that birthday gift.” 

****

“No.”

****

“You don't even know what I was going to say.”

****

“I don't want a birthday gift.”

****

“You can't say no if you haven't even gotten the offer.”

****

Craig heaves a dramatic sigh. “What is it, then?”

****

The blonde boy grins, pushing himself from the counter and elegantly landing on his feet. That’s impressive, considering how much he has had to drink.  Craig doesn’t know what to say, isn’t sure why Kenny is smiling like that, can’t quite piece together what is happening. By the time he realises it is far too late. Kenny has reached him and is pulling their mouths together. They collide with a wet and gross smack. 

****

Out of sheer surprise, Craig freezes. This certainly wasn’t what he was expecting.

****

After a few seconds, he melts. Kenny’s mouth is warm and eager and sort of relaxing, but only if he closes his eyes and imagines that they  _ aren’t _ in a house party filled with people from school. Kissing becomes easier, and a whole lot more enthusiastic. Arms are thrown around Craig’s neck to yank him down further. Kenny’s mouth tastes like that awful shit they were drinking, but this kissing is altogether pleasant, if he ignores the sloppiness which comes with alcohol-driven movements.

****

“Is that my gift?” Craig asks quietly, pulling away and wiping the string of saliva which follows him. 

****

“A part of it.” Kenny grins. “Depends if you want the rest.”

****

“Sex.” Sort of a question, more like a conformation.

****

Not surprising. Craig usually minds his own business when it comes to gossip, but even he has heard of Kenny’s escapades. 

****

There is no reply. One of Kenny’s eyebrows have raised, quirking curiously as he waits for an answer. Nothing comes for a long time, and he impatiently adds, “I do require an answer, you know. A yes or a no.”

****

“You want to fuck me.”

****

“Mhm. I can switch around if that suits you better.”

****

Why is he so casual about this? Just  _ offering  _ himself like that?

****

“I don’t …” Craig starts, but he has no idea where that sentence was ever headed.

****

Instead, he leans back down and recaptures Kenny in a kiss which is just as much fervour and sloppiness as before, except this time Craig knows what to except. He chases the feeling of a hot tongue sliding against his. Kenny pulls his neck, stumbling backwards and colliding with the kitchen counter. There is no time to wonder what is happening before Kenny is swiftly and smoothly pulling himself up onto the countertop, reconnecting the kiss like it had never broken. His added height makes Craig have to crane his neck up a little bit, and it’s a foreign feeling. Whenever kissing Tweek - his heart does a little spasm at that reminder - he would have to lean down, and Tweek hated sitting up anywhere of fear of falling off and breaking his neck. This feeling is … strange. More than strange, considering the soft force of the mouth against his belongs to  _ Kenny  _ of all people, and there’s the added concern that Craig is enjoying it. Like, really enjoying it. He especially enjoys it when legs hook around his waist, ensuring there is no space between their bodies, so impossibly close that every bump and dip of Kenny’s torso feels as if it is Craig’s own. 

****

When he has to pull back for air, Kenny wastes no time in leaning down and attacking the vulnerable skin of his neck. He pulls at it with his teeth, and Craig can feel the smile curl on his skin when the action earns a sharp hiss of air. His comment of  _ don’t leave a mark _ brews on his tongue, but he holds it back. In fact, the idea sends crackling excitement through his body, and he imagines the reaction this would get - the infamously single Craig Tucker, with a  _ hickey _ ?

****

“Somebody,” Craig mumbles, breathless, “could … could see.”

****

“Then let's find a bedroom,” is the smooth, unbothered reply.

****

Kenny must notice Craig’s stillness, because he stops kissing his neck and pulls his head back.

****

“I didn’t say stop.”

****

“Body language,” Kenny explains, running his palm over Craig’s shoulder, just an excuse to touch him. “Seemed like you’re against that idea.”

****

“I was surprised.”   
  


“You were surprised that I want to sleep with you?”

****

Craig holds back a smile. “No. I’m just …”

****

“Out of practice,” Kenny helpfully supplies, and Craig furrows his eyebrows. That isn’t how he would have worded it. “I wouldn’t sweat it, Tucker. You’re still sort of alright at kissing.”

****

“‘Sort of alright’?” Craig repeats.

****

Kenny just smiles and tilts Craig’s chin up with his finger, reconnecting their lips. This time there is no wet noise. It’s too gentle and chaste, more like a hello or goodbye kiss than what they were doing before.

****

“So, the birthday gift.”

****

Craig shakes his head, kissing Kenny again and again, little butterfly kisses aimed near his mouth. “This is enough.”   
  


“What? Fucking at a party isn’t classy enough for you or something?”

****

“No, not really.” Craig pulls back, blinking away fuzziness. “I’ll save it for another time.”

****

“Mhm, actually, a birthday fuck can’t be exchanged. That’s why it’s called a  _ birthday _ fuck.”

****

“Fine, then. It’ll  _ just _ be a fuck. Nothing birthday-related.”

****

Kenny smiles and Craig kisses it.

****

\------------------------------------

****

The next day, Craig’s phone buzzes. He checks it and sees:

****

**text me when ur ready for a non-birthday fuck**

****

Craig can’t help but smile. **  
**


End file.
